The Reluctant Pinkerton

by Robert J. Randisi

  36

  The next morning Lauren served breakfast without ever once looking at Roper. He took the hint from her and didn’t try to speak.

  Embry sat at one end of the table, Rickman at the other. There was still no conversation going on at the table while they all ate. Except for Roper and Catlin.

  “Makin’ friends?” Catlin asked.

  “I’ve met some fellas at work,” Roper said.

  “What about these two?” Catlin asked. “Rickman and Embry?”

  “Not friends, exactly,” Roper said. “Went out with them to the White Elephant last night.”

  “That’s an expensive place.”

  “Not my idea,” Roper said. “I won’t be goin’ back. I gotta save my money.”

  Catlin nodded, speared another ham steak from the center of the table.

  “What about you?” Roper asked. “Got friends in town?”

  “Some acquaintances,” the lawyer said. “No friends.”

  “What are you doin’ stayin’ in the Half Acre?” Roper said. “Doesn’t seem like the place a lawyer would stay.”

  “This place was recommended to me as having good beds and better food. So far, I find that’s the case.”

  “I agree.”

  “And I can afford it,” Catlin said. “Once my practice gets up and running, I might be able to move to a nicer location. But I don’t know if I’ll get food this good.”

  “Agreed again.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I don’t have a career, like you. I just drift from job to job. Right now I’m a clerk at the stockyards. Not the best of jobs, but I don’t have to wade through manure.”

  “So,” Catlin said, “we’re both waiting for something better.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  Roper looked around the table, saw a man—big, sloppy, beefy, mean looking—glaring at him.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That?” Catlin asked. “That’s Oscar. You know that peddler I told you about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s the one we all figure gave the peddler his beating and tore up his wares.”

  “Underwear.”

  “Yep.”

  “And what’s he glarin’ at me for?”

  “Maybe because you’re talking.”

  “I’m talkin’ to you,” Roper said. “You’re talkin’.”

  “But he knows I’m a lawyer.”

  “What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

  “Well, look at him,” Catlin said. “Sooner or later he knows he’s going to need a lawyer.”

  Roper grinned and said, “You’re probably right.”

  * * *

  Roper was in his room, getting ready to go to work, when there was a knock on his door. He opened it, saw Mrs. Varney standing in the hall.

  “Mr. Blake.”

  “Mrs. Varney,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”

  She stared up at him sternly. “I don’t go into single men’s rooms.”

  “I see. What can I do for you, then?”

  “It’s Lauren.”

  “What about her?”

  “You have to leave her alone.”

  “What have I done to her?” he asked.

  “I see you lookin’ at her,” the woman said. “With that look.”

  “What look?”

  “You know,” she said. “That…man look.”

  “I didn’t know I was doin’ that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s what all you men say,” she replied. “You didn’t mean it. Well, I aim to see no harm comes to that girl.”

  “Seems to me she’s pretty safe,” Roper said.

  “As long as she doesn’t leave Hell’s Half Acre, she is,” Mrs. Varney said.

  “I wonder how many people can say that,” Roper said. “That they’re safer inside the Half Acre than out.”

  “Well, she can,” Mrs. Varney said, “but I also aim to make sure she’s at least as safe in my house. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand, Mrs. Varney,” he said. “I understand you perfectly.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Varney said. “As long as we do not have to address this matter again, you are welcome to keep your room here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Varney.”

  She nodded and walked away. He closed his door.

  * * *

  Roper was asleep a matter of hours when there was a pounding on his door. Naked, he rushed to it and opened it, gun in hand.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Look out your window,” the lawyer, Catlin, said.

  “What?”

  “Look out your damned window!”

  Roper turned and padded to the window, pushed the curtain aside so he could look out. In the distance he saw a glow—a flickering glow.

  “Fire?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  Catlin came in and stood next to him, peering out the window.

  “The stockyards, Blake,” he said. “The stockyards are on fire.”

  “Damn it,” Roper said, turning and grabbing his clothes.

  37

  When Roper found Orton, the man’s face was covered with soot.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We don’t know,” Orton said. “All we know is that it was ablaze. Me and some of the boys started a bucket brigade, and then the fire department arrived.”

  Roper looked over at the flames, which were not burning as brightly or wildly as he’d expected to find.

  “It’s under control,” Orton said, “but we can still use all hands.”

  “You got ’em,” Roper said, removing his jacket.

  * * *

  They fought the fire until dawn and after. By then Roper was as covered in soot as any of them. He’d started in a bucket brigade, then grabbed an axe and followed the firemen, knocking down burning walls so the flames wouldn’t spread.

  Finally, Roper and all the volunteers stepped back to allow the fire brigade to finish. The air was filled with the smell of burning wood…and cattle.

  “How many head were lost?” he asked Orton.

  “We don’t know yet,” Orton said, surveying the scene. “You and me, we’ll have to get a count. We’ll also have to assess the property damage. We lost a barn, some pens…”

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “No. We got lucky. No human fatalities.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Orton looked at him. “How’d you hear about it?”

  “Somebody banged on my door and told me,” Roper said.

  “Well, thanks for rushing over,” Orton said.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one.”

  “We had a few men on duty. Some others saw it from their homes and came running.”

  Roper looked around. He had worked alongside the Fixx brothers during the night, but he still had not seen either Embry or Rickman.

  “You wanna go back to your room and clean up?” Orton asked.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m just gonna clean up in the office,” Orton said. “There’s a lot to do.”

  “I’ll come along,” Roper said. “No sense going home until I can stay there and have a bath.”

  Orton slapped Roper on the back and said, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  * * *

  Once they had gone to the office and cleaned up in Orton’s water closet, it was full daylight, and regular work hours. Roper and Orton came out and found most of the men standing around, looking dazed.

  “What are you men doing?” Orton asked.

  They looked up at him, standing on the top step in front of his office.

  “We don’t rightly know what to do, boss,” one of them said.

  “We come to work and find it’s all burned up,” another complained.

  “It’s not all burned up, you damned fools,” Orton said. “Now all you fellas have to do is get back to work.”

&n
bsp; “Some of our work done burned up,” another man said.

  “There’s a barn and some pens to be rebuilt, there are dead cattle to dispose of,” Orton said. “If you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing, you ask me, or ask Blake here. One of us will tell you. Now get to work!”

  The men began to disperse, and Orton looked over at Roper.

  “You okay with that?”

  “I’m okay with it, Pete,” Roper said.

  “Good,” he said, “now let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  Halfway through the day the local law arrived and went looking for Orton. They found Roper.

  “What’s your name?” one of them asked.

  “Andy Blake.”

  “What do you do around here?”

  “I’m Mr. Orton’s assistant.”

  “Well, where is he?”

  “He’s around here somewhere,” Roper said. “Fire last night left us with a heap of work to do.”

  “That’s what we’re here about,” one of the two men said. “We’re detectives with the Fort Worth Police Department.”

  “Why don’t you wait in the office,” Roper suggested, “and I’ll find Mr. Orton and bring him over.”

  “That’s right cooperative of you,” the other one said. Both were dressed in suits, sporting mustaches and—Roper could tell—wearing guns under their arms. They seemed to be in their forties and were probably experienced lawmen.

  “Much obliged,” the other one said.

  “What should I tell him your names are?”

  “Carradine and Cole.”

  The two men walked off toward the office and Roper went in search of Orton. He found him near a corral that was being used to pile the dead beeves.

  “Pete?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Two policemen are lookin’ for you,” he said. “They’re at the office.”

  Orton turned to the other men. “Keep working.” He turned to Roper. “Let’s go.”

  “Me, too?”

  “You, too.”

  They started walking to the office.

  “Looks like this fire was arson,” Orton said. “You can smell the kerosene.”

  “Arson,” Roper said. “Who’d do that?”

  “The same people who’ve been killing cows and causing damage for the past few months,” Orton said. “Only now they’re escalating to arson.”

  “Say,” Roper said, “what about that fella that died last month. Could that have been…”

  “Murder?” Orton asked. “I guess maybe we should leave that to the police.”

  38

  When Orton and Roper entered the office, one of the detectives was standing by Roper’s desk, the other by Orton’s. They both straightened up and it was obvious they were snooping.

  “Gentlemen,” Orton said, “I’m Pete Orton. I understand you’re looking for me?”

  “That’s right,” the one behind Orton’s desk said. “I’m Detective Carradine. This is my partner, Detective Cole.”

  Roper had dealt with enough law enforcement to know they didn’t always work in twos. He was curious about this pair.

  “Do you mind?” Orton asked, walking around his desk.

  “Not at all,” Carradine said, vacating the area. “Sorry.”

  “What can I do for you?” Orton asked.

  “Actually, it’s what we can do for you,” Carradine said. “We’re investigating the fire last night.”

  “Shouldn’t you have been here during the fire to do that?” Roper asked.

  Both detectives looked at him, then returned their attention to Orton without replying.

  “Mr. Blake makes a valid point,” Orton said, not letting it go.

  “Unfortunately,” Carradine said, “we weren’t on duty at the time. But we’re here now.”

  “And what would you like to do?”

  “We’d like to see the areas that were on fire,” Carradine said. “And we’d like to talk to anyone who was here last night.”

  “I had three men here during the night.”

  “Is that normal?” Carradine said. “Having men here overnight?”

  “It has been since we’ve had all the sabotage.”

  “I understand you’ve had some accidents,” Carradine said.

  “Not accidents,” Orton said.

  “All right,” Carradine said, “incidents, then.”

  Orton let it go. He knew they weren’t accidents or incidents.

  “Are you investigating those, too?” Roper asked.

  The two detectives looked at him again, and this time Carradine said, “Not really, no.”

  “A man died,” Roper said.

  “That was handled by a colleague of ours,” Carradine said, “and he found it to be an accident.”

  “Does he talk?” Roper asked, pointing at Cole.

  “When he has something to say,” Carradine said.

  Cole ignored Roper.

  “Where were you last night, sir,” Carradine asked Orton, “when the fire started?”

  “I was at home.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “I have a house a few miles away.”

  “Outside of Hell’s Half Acre?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was somebody there with you?”

  “My wife.”

  “Okay if we talk to her at some point?” the detective asked.

  “If you like.”

  “And how did you hear about the fire?”

  “One of the men ran to my house to tell me.”

  Carradine turned to Roper.

  “And you, sir?” he said. “Where were you?”

  “Home.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “A rooming house some blocks away.”

  “And how did you find out about the fire?”

  “One of the other boarders saw the fire from his window and woke me up.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I came running to see if I could help.”

  “And who was the boarder?”

  “His name’s Catlin,” Roper said. “He’s a lawyer.”

  “You think you need a lawyer, Mr. Blake?” Cole asked, speaking for the first time.

  Roper looked at him in surprise.

  “No,” he said, “he just happens to be another boarder.”

  “A lawyer?” Carradine asked. “Staying in a boardinghouse in the Half Acre?”

  “He’s new to town, has a new practice,” Roper said. “When he gets it goin’, he’ll find someplace else to live.”

  “And the same for you?” Carradine asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Roper said. “I’m waitin’ for my career here to advance.”

  “Advance, huh?” Carradine repeated.

  Roper just stared at him. The detectives turned back to Orton.

  “You got someone who can show us around?”

  “Sure, Andy here can do that.” Orton looked at Roper. “Okay, Andy?”

  “Sure, Pete.”

  “I’ll have the other three men waiting here when you get back,” Orton said.

  “Very cooperative of you,” Carradine said. “Very cooperative of both of you.”

  “Always willing to cooperate with the law,” Orton said. “Especially since you’ll be trying to find out who set the fires…right?”

  “That’s right,” Carradine said, “that’s what we’re here for.”

  “I’m sure my bosses,” Orton said, “will talk to your boss and extend their thanks.”

  “I’m sure that’ll happen,” Carradine said. “My boss talking to yours.” He turned to Roper. “You ready, Mr. Blake? Or can I call you Andy?”

  “You can call me whatever you like,” Roper said. “And yeah, I’m ready.”

  “We’ll be back soon, Mr. Orton,” Carradine said. “Please have those men here.”

  “I said I would.”

  “Yes,” Carradine said, “yes, you did.”

  39

  Roper took the t
wo police detectives around to examine the areas of the fires. The two of them walked around with their hands in their pockets, only occasionally bending over to get a better look, or maybe a whiff. In the end they both turned to Roper.

  “Were there any fatalities?” Carradine asked.

  “Not human,” Roper said. “Just cows.”

  “A lot of roasted meat,” Cole commented.

  “What are you going to do with all that meat?” Carradine asked.

  “I don’t know,” Roper said. “It’s not up to me. Maybe we’ll feed the poor.”

  “Now that’d be nice,” Carradine said.

  “Are we done here?” Roper asked.

  “Sure,” Carradine said, “you can take us back to the office now.”

  Roper started to lead the way but the two policeman suddenly flanked him.

  “What do you know about your boss?” Carradine asked.

  “Not much,” Roper said. “He’s my boss.”

  “Is he happy with his job?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “What about his wife?”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you know her?”

  “I met her once.”

  “Where?”

  “Here at the office,” Roper said. “She came to see her husband one day.”

  “And where are you from, Mr. Blake?” Carradine asked.

  “Missouri originally,” Roper said. “I moved west a long time ago, been travelin’ around.”

  “Why’d you stop here?”

  “I’d never been here before.”

  “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “I don’t have a plan,” Roper said.

  “That seems odd.”

  “Why?”

  “You strike me as the kind of man who has a plan,” Carradine said.

  Another one who was seeing through his Andy Blake cover?

  * * *

  As they entered the office, four men turned to look at them.

  “Detectives,” Orton said from behind his desk, “these are my men, Rick John, Freddy Garcia, and Al Turnbull. They were all here last night.”

  “I want to thank you gents for coming in,” Detective Carradine said. “We’re just trying to find out what happened last night.” He looked at Orton. “We’ll need to speak to them separately.”

  “Use my office,” Orton said, getting up from his chair. “Andy and I can go outside.”

  “Mr. Garcia and Mr. Turnbull?” Carradine asked. “Can you wait outside until we’re ready?”